


Maybe

by trilliath



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Closure, Complicated feelings is what, M/M, One Night Stand, Or maybe the opposite of that?, Unfinished Business
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 00:09:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8599258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trilliath/pseuds/trilliath
Summary: It's been almost a year since Jeff last looked at him, two years since the last time Jeff turned up on his doorstep and looked at him like this - - or no, maybe he's never looked at him quite like this… like Eric is unfinished business that he's determined to finally do something about.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Standard Disclaimers: This story is a work of fiction inspired by the public personas of real hockey players. It is entirely a "what if in a parallel universe" and not in any way actual speculation about the persons named within. 
> 
>  
> 
> Teams trading away their captains makes me sad, and also Jeff is working so hard this year wearing the A and I had feelings and then I had a dream about this and it wouldn't leave me alone so...

He’s not expecting the knock. He’s almost _never_ really expecting a knock on this door, on this house way out in the edge of the suburbs right before it becomes officially rural Minnesotan farmland. Enough to get him all the goddamned space and privacy and garden-space he can stand.

He'd loved being the captain of the Hurricanes, loved it with all his heart, but it'd be a lie to say it isn't a relief not to be responsible for a whole team now. To not have to answer every request for help, to not have to keep his door open for everyone. To just be another guy in the room, loving the game. 

Not that he'd had that much tonight. It's hard, playing the 'Canes, even if it's only twice a year.  
   
The knock comes again, more firmly this time. Briefly he considers ignoring it. After all, he's exhausted. Of course he is, he's thirty two and he's in the middle of the season, has just played a game and he’s already in his pajamas – the earthy green colors he’s almost getting used to seeing now next to the deep crimson instead of shocking red and white over black. (He’d never even bothered getting used to the blue. He’d known it was just a stop-off from the get.)  
   
It’s not Jordan, because he’d already told Eric he had plans with friends who’d gone to the game and that the team was flying out early so he wasn't going to drive all the way out here just to sleep. They’d seen each other with the whole family just a few weeks ago anyway, so it's not like he'd even been disappointed. Perhaps a little relieved, even. He loves his brother but he can't pretend it's not hard to see him in red and white without him.

Still, chances are if someone’s out this far, they’ve got a good reason. Maybe a stranger broken down and in need of a phone. Eric puts aside his protein shake and the book he’d been about to take upstairs to bed with him, then makes his way quietly to the front entrance, briefly regretting not having changed the door for something without the marbled decorated glass in the main panel. 

Though he can barely make out a tall, probably masculine silhouette, it's impossible to see out effectively or disguise his own approach to the door. Not that he’s not well physically capable of handling whatever might show up on his doorstep, especially given the hockey stick propped by the coat rack.  
   
Of course, when he opens the door, he almost laughs because the hockey stick sure as hell isn’t going to help him handle _this_.  
   
“Hey,” Jeff says.

Jeff Skinner is standing there on his doorstep. He's in jeans and a plain dark canvas coat, hands tucked into his pockets. His hair is still just a bit damp from the showers at Xcel, though some of the curls are fluffed up like he’s run his fingers through them. He’s not smiling, though Eric can still see the faint line down his cheeks where his dimples would be if he were. Instead his lips are pulled together, halfway to frowning, his breath misting the air in front of him in the cold.  
   
His eyes skim over Eric, then lift up to his face, to fully meet his gaze for the first time tonight, even though it’s not the first time today they’ve seen each other, not by a long shot. They’re intense. Older now than they should be for less than a year’s change.

Eric knows at least some part of that is his fault, but he's not sure there's anything he could have done better with the pieces that were up to him. He'd done what he'd thought was best.  
   
Jeff swallows, shoulders tense. It's… different, too, seeing him off the ice, seeing him in regular clothes, alone. Eric steps back, slowly, feeling a little distant from his body as he does, a little transported in time, and Jeff looks at him a moment but steps into the foyer with him, takes the door from his hand and shuts it behind himself.  
   
He can hear him breathing, it’s so quiet out here, so far from everyone and everything. His house is empty and all turned off for the night and altogether a little surreal. Though he’s laid groundwork, has three probable years’ worth to grow, he doesn’t have roots here yet. But seeing Jeff…  
   
He has roots there, deep ones, no matter how he may have tried to sever them.

Jeff steps closer, right into his personal space, crowding him back against the wall a little even though he doesn’t touch him, not yet. Jeff being in his boots makes the difference in their heights less of a sharp angle, though he still has to look up at Eric. His eyes are dark in the dim light and with focus, still too big and expressive in his face, still too sweet framed in soft dark lashes to belong to one of the toughest people Eric's ever known.  
   
Eric’s arm brushes against one of the coats hanging on the rack and he leans against the cool wall, lets Jeff press him back with his presence. Shows just how unwilling he is to put up anything resembling a fight. Not anymore. He'd done what he'd thought was right for both of them at the time, but that's all ancient history now. And now…  
   
Jeff’s hand is cold when it settles along his jaw, a sharp contrast to the heated interior of the house. It’s bitterly cold out, of course, the dead of winter in Minnesota this late at night, and a long drive from St. Paul. Plus however long Jeff had stood outside making up his mind to knock. Eric doesn’t think he’s changed so much as that in so short a time.  
   
Jeff doesn’t ask with words but he’s asking with his body, giving Eric clear sign of his intentions, time to pull away. Eric closes his eyes, a silent prayer of gratitude that he’s been graced with this second chance to surrender. After nearly a year of silence, nearly two of emotional distance he'd created - when Jeff hadn't even looked at him during the game, he'd thought…

Jeff’s lips are cool but his mouth is hot, opening over his. He tastes sweet, probably because his habit of sweet little hard candies hasn’t changed either. He chases the taste, their mouths fitting together easily, just as easily as the last time and for a moment it's like it hasn't been two years since then. Like Jeff's still his closest friend teetering on the verge of becoming something else, still smiling up at him with lines like sunshine etched into his face, still there in his life, entangled in nearly every part of it.

Eric runs his hands along Jeff’s chest, finds the zipper on his coat and drags it down, gets his hands under the fabric to curl around his waist as Jeff makes a sound low in the back of his throat and grapples onto him. Eric just breathes him in, the slicing cold tangled through the familiar scent of his shampoo and deodorant freed from under his outer layer.  
   
The coat is still cold where it sits between them, though, an unwanted buffer. He pushes it back and down over Jeff’s shoulders with determination and leans into the kiss until Jeff lets go of him long enough to let the thing fall down his arms to the floor. 

Jeff’s arms wrap around him, strong and bare past his tee, pressing tight instead of pulling away, just how he’s wanted for so damned long it feels somehow impossible that it’s the first time it’s actually happening like _this_.

Jeff rolls his body against Eric's, slow and deliberately carnal and he is helpless to do anything but respond in kind. He lets Jeff plunder his mouth and splays his palm over the generous curve of his ass to keep them close. They're closer than ever before now but it's clearly not enough, not all Jeff wants from him.  
   
Eric doesn’t really have much doubt about what this is.  
   
Jeff breaks the kiss, breathing hitching and fast and Eric gets only a glimpse of flushed cheeks before Jeff’s pressing his face into Eric’s shoulder, his hands fisted in the back of Eric’s Minnesota Wild tee. Eric just holds him back for a little while, leans his face against the side of Jeff’s head, touches his lips to the delicate skin behind his ear where chocolate hair twists in soft little curves.  
   
Jeff shudders at the brush of his teeth that follows, and then he’s pulling back, looking up at Eric and studying his face openly. His eyes are a little wet, his cheeks blotchy with suppressed emotion. 

Eric tries for a smile, though his smiles always feel anemic on a clear day, let alone a night like this where he feels like the ice has cracked underneath him, uncertain how much longer it might hold. He still nods, answers yes to the question implicit in Jeff's eyes. 

Jeff's nostrils flare, his lips pursing, but then he's shifting his grip down to Eric’s wrist and dragging him away from the front door and further into the house. He’s never been here, obviously, but it’s not a complicated floorplan. It must not be hard to find the hallway leading towards the bedrooms, and Jeff dismisses guest rooms with a glance as he leads them down to the end of the hall. He doesn’t need Eric to point out where the master sits past half-open double-doors, so Eric doesn't. He doesn't break the oppressive silence that's wrapped around them, doesn't want to pluck too sharply on the fragile thread between them he'd thought was already lost to him.  
   
There's a lamp on the bedside table he's left lit, anticipating an evening finished off with his book and calorie-maintenance snack. Now it bathes the room in soft amber light, leaving most of it in shadow. 

He's lived here something like six months, and his room is still mostly empty, just the things he needs and a few small comforts for a life lived so often on the road. It's crisply clean but more from lack of use than any efforts on his part. The décor is as it was when he'd bought it, tasteful earthtones and pale fabrics and nothing of any substance, really. But the clothes in the closet are his, the clutter of his laptop and some papers on the dresser are enough to make it his room, he feels that much at least. 

When Jeff has finished glancing around the space and turns to face him again, he’s regained some of his composure, some of that determined, focused intensity Eric’s now seen anew as an _opposing_ skater showing through. He moves with the same grace as always, and a confidence that isn’t new but is stronger. Eric finds himself quickly divested of his shirt and sleep pants, the green puddling on the earth-toned carpet like moss as Jeff guides him back and down onto the bed.  
   
He sits, lets his hands come up to settle on Jeff’s waist as Jeff takes his turn, drags his grey hurricanes tee over his head, then starts in on his belt. Eric watches him a moment, savors each intimate breath, then slides off the bed, down onto his knees before him. 

Jeff’s breath catches, his hands faltering on the button of his jeans, buckle clattering loose against his wrist. Eric presses his forehead into Jeff’s thigh a moment and just breathes, just tries not to let the crack in the ice spread.  
   
Some seconds later Jeff’s hand settles in his hair, fingers slowly tightening in the messy strands. Eric doesn’t apologize, doesn’t take it as some kind of forgiveness, but it still feels like something of a benediction as he steadies himself, then lets his hands fall to work on the practical problem of boot laces.  
   
Jeff lets him do it, lets him take off his boots one at a time, his socks. He lets Eric finish what he started with his jeans and drag the fabric down over his hips, lets him stay there on his knees in front of him, the both of them bare.  
   
This too isn’t really new, except that it’s something they’ve never done. He’s never seen Jeff hard like this, for all that he’s seen him naked enough times to draw constellations of the location of half a dozen moles at least. But Jeff is hard, ready and flushed, tension coiled through his whole body like barbed wire. His face is grim, eyes dark and steady as they gaze down at Eric, fingers still in his hair.  
   
Eric lets his eyes close a little as he opens his mouth in offering, in supplication. Jeff’s breath is ragged but he doesn’t wait long. Fingertips touch his parted lips, then splay firm under his jaw, opening his mouth wider for the cock that presses into it a moment later.  
   
Eric’s body feels loose and heavy as Jeff holds him there, shifts his body how he likes, pressing himself deeper into Eric’s mouth in slow, careful thrusts that spread Eric’s saliva down the length of him.  
   
Eric savors the weight on his tongue, rounded and taut and warm, the barest bitter hints of precome mixing with his saliva and the clean taste of skin. It's been a long, long time since he's done this, but he knows how to relax, to open for it, to press his tongue against the curved shapes and breathe through his nose. He wants this, wants to worship Jeff with his mouth, to show him he understands, that Jeff was right even though Eric wasn't wrong.  
   
When he opens his eyes again, Jeff is staring back at him. Not with pleasure or even focus but with something like pain. His face is rumpled with tension, with emotions Eric understands but wishes he wasn't a cause of. He pulls back, takes one of Jeff's hands in his and brings it to his lips, kisses his palm as he gazes up at him.  
   
But something in what Jeff sees in Eric's face makes him pull away, motion sharp and face tightening. He steps away and Eric watches in silence as Jeff bends to reach for his jeans and dig into one of the pockets. He's not all that surprised when Jeff comes up with a condom which he turns over in his fingers for a moment before he holds it up. His lips are still drawn down, face pulled against some emotion as his brows go up in question as he looks down at Eric.

Eric gets up and moves to the bedside table to tip open the top drawer wherein lies his own supplies of lube and condoms, should Jeff want them. Then he sits back down on the bed where Jeff had put him before, sliding back towards the center and laying back, leaving his thighs spread, his head tilted to look up at him. There's too much he wants to do, too many things that will still be left untouched when this is done, but he'll give Jeff whatever he wants tonight. Anything he wants, anything he needs, even if it's to be angry at him still.

Jeff takes a deep breath, eyes on the drawer, then on Eric, sliding down the bare length of his body slow and heavy enough to feel like a caress. He lets the condom he brought fall to the ground in exchange for one of Eric's, which he tears open and brings with him as he climbs up onto the bed on his knees, straddles over Eric's lap and takes him in hand.

Eric's eyes close reflexively at the touch, at the broad, work-strong palm against his erection, but he forces them open again, not wanting to miss any of this. Doesn't want to miss seeing Jeff.

Jeff looks at him, holds his gaze as he strokes him a moment. And it's not that he's not angry, and not hurt, but up close like this, Jeff's eyes are also sad and soft and all Eric can feel is the bittersweet intimacy of it. His cheeks are mottled pink flushed with emotion and arousal and oh so precious and familiar to Eric. He doesn't know what his own face is showing, but Jeff studies him with his lip bitten between his teeth in a slow drag before he lets it go and takes Eric's mouth instead. The kiss is heavy and full of teeth, fast and demanding and Eric holds on and takes it.

Jeff's fingers are busy sliding the condom onto Eric instead of himself, which Eric had half expected him to do. He's more than willing. He's wanting of it, even, but practically-speaking he remains unprepared for it to go the other direction at the moment. If he'd known… but if this is what Jeff wants, then this is what he wants, and he's certainly not complaining about the way Jeff is already lifting himself up and leaning into Eric's chest, his cock damp and full pressed between their bellies as he guides Eric's up into his already slickened and stretched hole.

Jeff makes a low, hollow sound as he presses his body down around Eric, takes him into himself and possesses him. His tongue is just as possessive in Eric's mouth, and the hands he tangles in Eric's hair are too as he grinds down. 

He's not sure to which of them Jeff's trying to prove that he owns Eric with this, but it doesn't really matter because it's going to go uncontested.

Eric shifts his legs just enough to give himself a little leverage to rock with the rhythm Jeff sets, settles his hands on Jeff's hips just so he can help stabilize him. He doesn't try and take over, though his body would love for him to thrust faster and harder into the heat of Jeff around him. This is Jeff's show, and he's going to have him take what he wants from him.

It's slow but hard, the way Jeff rides him. Deep, grinding, heavy thrusts of his body, matched by the intensity of the way their mouths meet. It feels like Jeff's trying to climb into him, or to consume him, or both.

Eric aches with it, with the pleasure of having Jeff in his arms, the pain of it not being enough, never going to be enough, the pace as torturously slow as the encounter itself is too finite, too isolated a moment in the span of their lives. Too distant from two years ago, from three years from now. Too many miles between them.

He's not the only one feeling it. The kiss turns sharp-edged, stumbles on uneven breaths and too-hard presses of lips caught between teeth. The pace is faster, shallower, but still just a torment. Jeff turns his face away, his body trembling with the tension of fucking himself at this close, awkward angle over Eric. He's clearly trying to cling to his composure but that's never been his strength.

"What do you need?" Eric whispers against his skin. He'll do it, he'll do anything.

Jeff hiccups back a sound halfway to a sob, his nails digging into Eric's neck.

"Fuck me, just… _fuck_ me," he says, voice cracking a little at the edges even though it's clear he tries to say it steadily. His fingers shake against Eric's skin like he's stripped away so many layers, left himself vulnerable - maybe more vulnerable than he'd intended to, coming here like this, taking this for himself. 

And Eric curses himself for being selfish, for abandoning his old mantle as captain so completely without thinking that Jeff might need a piece of the old Eric, _his_ Eric here tonight. He grips Jeff's waist, holds him close as he rolls them down to the bed at an angle. He puts Jeff on his back, rises over him still buried inside him, but Jeff's hiding his face in one of his palms, his breath still hitching the way it does when he's emotional and trying not to let anyone see. 

Eric separates them, hauling Jeff over in the bed until he's sprawled face down, though it takes more strength than he'd foolishly expected. He's known it, of course he has, but somehow it's only now that he can really see how much Jeff's grown, how much more solid he is than the teenager he'd been when he'd entered Eric's life. 

But he is, he's grown so much since then, and this time Eric isn't going to doubt that he knows what he's asking for or hesitate to give it to him. They've already paid the harder dues. This isn't going to be without cost either, but it's a price he's willing to pay if Jeff is, and he wouldn't be here otherwise.

It's a matter of moments to mount up behind Jeff, to press himself back inside him and give him what he's asked for. Here he has leverage, can brace himself against his thickly muscled waist and thighs and thrust with good force.

The tension doesn't leave Jeff's body, but it shifts, turns into something easier, something less jagged. Jeff's face is still blotchy, his eyes still damp when he stops hiding his face in the pillow enough to turn his head and watch as Eric fucks him. 

His hand falls limp on the bed beside him and Eric reaches for it, slides his hand under Jeff's and laces their fingers together as he grips the bed. Jeff returns the grip, harder as Eric drives into him with thrusts that crack on contact, loud in the quiet.

This time the pleasure starts to work towards something, starts to spiral upon itself, trading between them with every grind until it's building up, not breaking them down. 

Jeff pants with it, face dragging against the sheets as his body ripples through tension and surrender. Eric doesn't let up, stays with the shifting of Jeff's hips and holds him down under him with his legs and his weight. 

When Jeff starts making these low, desperate humming sounds, Eric takes the both of their entangled hands beneath them to wrap around Jeff's cock, tacky with leftover saliva and precome. 

Jeff makes a soft sound that makes Eric's chest ache, his fingers tightening amidst Eric's as they move over him in coordination with his thrusts. His chest is almost touching Jeff's back, his belly brushing his sweat-damp skin as his core works to keep them close to give Jeff what he's asked for this time, finally give them both what they want. 

"Jeff," he hears himself breathe against the back of Jeff's neck.

Jeff groans, drives back against him and his body goes taut, clamping down around Eric's dick. He shudders through it, his moan undercut and dragged from him unwittingly like a lot of the sounds he's heard Jeff make over the years. 

Their hands are wet with it, and even when Jeff takes their hands away from his cock, disentangles them, Eric doesn't stop fucking him through the comedown. Jeff keeps making that sound and Eric keeps going, but he does gentle his thrusts, make them slow and smooth and deep until Jeff stops trembling and falls quiet.

Jeff just lies there a bit, catching his breath, his face still pressed in against the pillow. Eric runs his fingers through Jeff's curls, a gesture he's suppressed so many times before. The tips of Jeff's ears are predictably red and he kisses one before he pulls back, easing himself gently out of Jeff's body since it seems like Jeff's maybe had enough now.

He's wrong though, because Jeff twists to look at him as he sits back, brows furrowed in consternation. His mouth creases in a frown as he rolls onto his back and pulls Eric back down, pulls him between his thighs and tries to get his body back around Eric's cock.

"Shh," Eric says, brushing sweaty curls back from his forehead and kissing his reddened lips as he obliges, since there's really no other way he'd rather finish this either. 

Jeff curls his limbs around him and Eric lays his body down, lets Jeff take his weight as he buries his face into the side of his head and grinds. Jeff's breath is punched-out and hot against his neck. 

The night is so cold but he's so warm like this, so unburdened in this moment. The world around him fades, nothing but the rocking of his hips, the heat of Jeff's palms against his skin and the pounding of his heart remains.

God but he wants to wrap Jeff up into himself, to be wrapped up by Jeff's arms and never be let go, and that's exactly why he'd never said yes, why they hadn't had this before. He loses himself in this, in Jeff, just like he'd known he would. 

When he comes, it's in a liquid, heavy rush, the scent of Jeff's hair in his nose, the taste of him on his tongue. With his eyes closed, for a moment, he can feel it stretch out forever, one perfect moment, a perfect goal.

But time marches on and soon the sound of Jeff's labored breathing overtakes the blood rushing in his ears. Eric pushes up off him, rolls to the side so he's no longer crushing him. He lays on his back, staring at the ceiling, feeling the heat of Jeff's body beside him, their hands half laid over each other but not really holding on.

And like all the moments before it, this moment fades too. It isn't long before the cool air makes itself known. He's just about mustered the energy to deal with the condom and then maybe turn off the light and tuck Jeff in beside him, when Jeff sits up and quietly, decisively moves away. 

Eric watches as he sits at the edge of the bed, bends down to pull his discarded clothing over to him and shove his wallet and phone back into the pockets they'd come dislodged from before he slides his jeans on and then bends to settle his socks and boots back where they belong. 

He'd be lying if he said he didn't want to say something, to ask Jeff to stay with him, to stay here, where the night may be cold but Eric can keep him warm and close under the covers, but… 

Well, the Canes have an early flight. And Eric had never really had much doubt about what this was.

So he leaves him to it, just watches Jeff lace his boots. Jeff falters though, his crumpled tee shirt in his lap, his belt not quite done right. His head hangs towards his chest as he takes a deep, shaking breath, swipes a palm over his face. 

“The letter looks good on you,” Eric says into the silence, because it’s true. He’s so fucking proud he could burst. He hopes Jeff knows that. He needs Jeff to know that.  
   
Jeff grips the edge of the mattress, back rippling with the tension spreading up through his arms.  
   
“Fuck you,” he says softly. “Fuck you.”  
   
Eric puts the flat of his palm there, between Jeff’s shoulderblades, cool air contrasting with the heat of his skin. He gets it. It’s one of the hardest thing to come to terms with like this, growing up in hockey, becoming an adult here.  
   
You lose everyone. Everything. Always. Hockey is just a dream, a legend, passing through people’s lives and leaving them all behind no matter how hard they fight to stay in it.  
   
He supposes the same could be said of most things. Though maybe it’s sooner and harsher with hockey than not. He'd known by the time he'd turned thirty that his time in Carolina was coming to an end before long. That Jeff's was really just beginning. He's known it, even if Jeff hadn't. Even if Jeff still doesn't, not quite.  
   
Eric slides his hand up to cup the back of Jeff’s neck, squeezes gently as he shifts his whole body closer, leans in so he can touch his lips to the back of Jeff's head before he pulls back. Makes himself let Jeff go.

Again. Maybe forever, this time. 

Jeff gets up. He drops the 'Canes tee he'd been holding and instead bends and picks up the discarded Wild shirt he'd taken off Eric. He doesn't look at Eric as he pulls it on over his head, and it's really not his color, not at all, but that's okay.

He runs his hands over his pockets reflexively, then swallows, stares at the floor as he curls his hands into fists before he shakes them out and says, "I know three years is a long time. For both of us."

And for a moment, just for a moment, Eric lets himself imagine what might happen, when they'll both be at the end of their contracts in three years, when they might both have the freedom to make a choice of what they do next, to maybe even make it together.

"I'm not asking, just. Maybe…" He looks at Eric then, shrugs a green-clad shoulder.

And three years is a _long_ time in hockey, but-

"Yeah," he says, feeling a little lightheaded looking up at him, allowing himself just that sliver of hope.

Jeff's face goes suddenly soft, creasing at the corners of his eyes, around his mouth as he closes the distance between them once more. His kiss is soft, so very gentle on Eric's lips, and his lashes brush against his cheek as he pulls away.

It's quiet this far out, quiet enough that he hears his footsteps, the latch of the door, the sound of the engine turning over and the car pulling away.

And Eric'd never really had much doubt about what this was, but as he picks up Jeff's discarded hurricanes shirt, he thinks, _maybe_ and folds it and places it carefully in a drawer.


End file.
